A Crossbow and a Diary
by lydia.wells.7
Summary: "There were far worse dangers. The blackness that could eat your soul with hatred." One shot based on "Beaches of Cheyenne" by Garth Brooks. Credit to Rhinozilla and Bsparrow for the idea that started all this. WARNING: MAJOR character deaths.


**AN: One shot I wrote based on the song "Cheyenne" by Garth Brooks. Caryl loosely set in season 4 and beyond. AU. There is no Carol/killer storyline, and the governor is alive. This isn't a happy fic. You've been forewarned. **

**WARNING: Major Character Deaths. **

_**Thanks to Rhinozilla and Bsparrow for inspiring this, in addition to Garth Brooks**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or its characters or storylines, nor do I own "Cheyenne" or Garth Brooks or anything by him. **

A Crossbow and a Diary

"Tell me again, Carl. Please?"

"Jude, you ask every night. You don't need to hear it again."

"But I really want you to tell me again!"

"Fine. Well, ya see, uncle Daryl had to go get you some formula. Dad, well he was killing some walkers in the tombs of the prison. Daryl came back and took you right from me, getting the bottle and feeding ya right there. And, we couldn't think of a name for you right off, so Daryl, well, he just starts calling ya Lil' Asskicker. Cause you were a tough little thing, ya know? There. That good enough?"

Jude yawned sleepily and pulled her blanket up to her chin. "Yeah. What happened to Uncle Daryl?"

Carl patted her head, kissed her forehead and said, "That's another story. Goodnight, Jude."

He closed the door and went downstairs and out the back door. Walking a few yards, he stopped and gazed up at the moon. The sand shone, reflecting the moonlight and water shimmering. The waves gently lapped at the shore, beckoning him. He blinked. He swore he saw footprints in the sand. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed. _Not again._ He opened his eyes and gazed back at the beach. Nothing. It was his imagination. There was nothing.

XXXXXXXXX

They had left the prison in search of a new Safe Haven, taking into consideration Michonne's idea about the coast. Finally, they had happened upon a small resort right on the beaches, private, fenced in, and they had a strong source of food, being right up against the ocean. Fishing was a staple of survival now. Walkers were less of a threat by the beach, and the ocean gave them a natural barrier to their backs. It was a respite in this hellish world. It had been five years since they left the prison, the walkers taking down the gates beyond repair, and the flu had left them without enough manpower to rebuild. This beach resort had been a Haven. With one caveat. The governor was still at large.

XXXXXXXXX

_**Four and a half years ago**_

Carol and Daryl walked up the steps to the beach house.

"This one alright?"

"Hell, one's about as good as another I guess."

They walked in with their gear, the house having already been cleared and bodies burned by the teams beforehand. Carol sat her bag on the table and said, "It doesn't feel real. It feels too normal. Or…what used to be normal."

"I know. Hate not being close to the woods. Miss the trees."

She turned and stepped closer to him. Close enough to notice the earthy, sweaty, musky smell emanating from him. Her insides clenched.

"I know you do. But, it will work out. We'll be okay. I think we can be safe here."

"Yeah? For how long? Ain't never gonna be safe as long as the governor's out there." His gravelly voice rumbled low, striking visceral chords deep within her.

"He won't find us. We're not at the prison anymore. He's not a tracker. He has no army. We can build lives here, Daryl."

"Maybe."

She turned around and went to the kitchen to unpack her meager belongings and ready an area for cooking and meal preparation. She called back softly.

"You just need to have hope."

XXXXXXXXXX

He walked into the bedroom, the soft candlelight throwing shadows on the wall. She glanced up, setting her book and pen on the nightstand.

"Who's on watch?"

"Glenn and Maggie took over. Don't know how much, if any, watching's gonna get done." He smirked. Carol watched him as he set his crossbow down by the bed and sat down, taking his boots off and removing his vest, but leaving on the rest of his clothes.

"Everything ok?" She tried to catch his eye. He avoided her gaze and turning on his side grumbled. "Yeah, just tired. Gonna catch some sleep afore I gotta wake up to go fishin. "

Carol lay back on her pillow, not understanding what was behind his mood. He'd been acting strange for weeks, ever since he and Michonne had been going out looking for the governor. Every time he had come back with no more progress in finding him, he had withdrawn a little bit more, retreated behind his mask. There was a wealth of emotion there that he was trying to conceal. Fear for their group, anger and rage that Merle had died because of him, his failure in reaching him in time. Powerlessness and helplessness were a chasm in his soul that opened a bit wider and swallowed him a little bit more with each failed endeavor to find and kill the governor. She wished he would give it up. Concentrate on what they had now. Live in the present. The bitterness of revenge would require him to dig two graves. One for the governor and one for himself.

XXXXXXXXX

Michonne stood just outside the door of the cottage, trying hard not to hear the yelling from inside. She and Daryl were heading out again. Looking for the worthless piece of inhuman excrement that had robbed them of two of the most important people in their lives. They needed this. Needed closure. Not to mention the danger he posed, still being out there somewhere. Another yell. She couldn't help but hear the words this time.

"_I can't stop! He killed Merle. He killed Andrea. They didn't deserve to die like that! You think I enjoy leaving? Merle gave us a chance. And Andrea saved your life! They deserve justice! I HAVE to go!"_

Another yell, a bit more muffled and then Daryl ripped the door open and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

"Let's go." His voice was harsh, the words bit out, just barely making it past his lips. His demeanor was a black cloud and brooked no response from her. She fell into step behind him.

XXXXXXXX

Carol paced by the coffee table. It had been seven days. Not much longer than previous trips but she couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had wished she could take it back. As soon as the words crossed her lips she wanted to pull them back from the void they crossed, the expanse they created, billowing up like a mushroom cloud between them, stunning him into silence and pushing him out the door. She didn't want him to leave again. It was dangerous. Not just walkers were out there. There were far worse dangers. The blackness that could eat your soul with hatred. She wanted him here, with her. With their dreams and hopes for the future. But he couldn't get past his need for retribution. It ate away at him, leaving little left over for her but crumbs, and they weren't enough. So, when he told her he was leaving, she lashed out in her pain and fear.

"Then I don't give a damn if you never come back!"

He had walked out and she was left waiting, regretting, and worrying, because she lied.

She did give a damn.

XXXXXXXX

Carol held her hand up, shading her eyes from the sun. Off in the distance, she saw a lone figure, hobbling up the drive.

Her heart clenched, writhing and convulsing simultaneously. Her stomach was a chunk of lead. Her blood was a swarm of bees, flying through her body, trying to escape, buzzing in her ears and clouding her vision. Wait. No, those were tears. Blinking them away, she watched as Michonne approached. She couldn't look Carol in the eye.

"He…he…" she couldn't finish the sentence. Michonne started over.

"He got the governor. He's dead. But…Daryl…he…he got bit. Walker came out of nowhere. I wasn't fast enough. There…" she crumpled to the ground. "…was nothing we could do. He…he…made me promise…I took care of it." She gripped Daryl's crossbow in her hand.

Carol stood there. She heard every word but she couldn't respond. She was a prisoner in her own body, and yet not in her body. She felt she could see the scene unfolding outside of herself. Knowing it was happening but unable to process it. She finally jerked her head and managed to get her limbs to cooperate enough to carry her back to the house, leaving Michonne there on the ground. It was just a house. No longer a home. It held nothing for her anymore.

XXXXXXXX

_**Present Day**_

Carl walked back to the house. He'd never forgotten that day after Michonne had come back. Alone. Carrying Daryl's crossbow. The group had been devastated, but nothing could prepare them for what they had found when they went looking to comfort Carol.

The house had been a wreck. Dishes broke, furniture thrown around. There were dents in the walls. In fact, he probably could still run his fingers over the holes in the walls. The group hadn't done much in the way of fixing their house afterwards. Bed linens and pillows were strewn haphazardly through the hall. The only thing upright and untouched by the fury of grief and anger was the nightstand by the bed and the diary which lay on top. Later, after knowing she was never coming back, Maggie and Beth had looked through it in an effort to understand what had happened and read about the fight they had the day he left.

Gradually, the group began to heal, but the absence of those two had left a hole not to be filled by any others. And on nights like tonight, he could almost feel the remnants of their souls, whispering over him as he stared at the ocean, seeing footprints in the sand.

He supposed it was time to tell Jude the truth. Soon enough. Maybe tomorrow.

Carl walked up the stairs to his room, opened the closet and pulled out the two items most precious to the man and woman who had been like a father and mother to him.

A crossbow and a diary.


End file.
